Taking into consideration the violence of the storm, the Portchester Castle's people had come off lightly. Of her complement of 215, four officers and thirty-two men were missing. With three exceptions, the passengers and crew rescued from the Sunderbund's life-boat were safe, while the Turkish airman, Afir-al-Bahr, had come ashore without injury.
Of the boats, only one was in a serviceable condition. The others had been smashed up on the beach by the surf before sufficient hands were available to haul them above the reach of the waves. Most of the gear had been saved, including twenty-four rifles, a couple of cases of ammunition, seven barrels of biscuits, some salt beef, and half a dozen barricoes of water.
Although the waves were still running high, the storm had nearly blown itself out. The shore was littered with debris. Several seamen were busily engaged in collecting everything that might prove to be of value from the wreckage.
At some distance from the shore was the wreck of the Portchester Castle, with waves breaking against those portions that showed above water. One of her funnels had vanished; the other was still manfully resisting the onslaught of the heavy breakers. Both her masts remained, while from the ensign staff that showed four or five feet above the waves the white ensign still fluttered in the strong breeze.
Osborne waved a cheery greeting to his chum as Webb regained his feet. The Lieutenant was too busy to "knock off" and yarn with him. Every moment was precious if the place were to be put into a state of defence before the threatened attack.
A short, round-faced man, whose headgear consisted of a white cap-cover, came bustling along the top of the dunes. It was Donovon, the ship's surgeon.
"Faith," he exclaimed, catching sight of Webb, "and what might you be doing out in the sun? Get back to bed this minute." And he indicated the scanty shade of the thorn bush.
"I'm all right, Doctor," protested the Sub; "I am really."
"So you think," rejoined Dr. Donovon. "If you're knocking yourself up, that is your affair; only I'd let you know that I've my hands pretty full without asking for more patients."
He hurried off to attend to other cases, leaving the Sub to speculate on the surgeon's warning. "All right" hardly described Webb's present state. He felt considerably battered about, and had a dull headache; but, he reflected, it wasn't playing the game to lie down when he felt capable of doing something to assist the general work.